


Dear Sherlock

by supermerlockpotterwhohead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:37:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermerlockpotterwhohead/pseuds/supermerlockpotterwhohead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson gets through the days, weeks and months by writing letters to his dead friend, Sherlock Holmes. Post-Reichenbach. Warning- ANGST!, Character Death(s) and Mentions of Suicide/Suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Sherlock

Dear Sherlock,

I know you'll never read this but that won't stop me from writing. This was Ella's idea, actually. So… here goes. You're a twat. You know that, don't you? You are an absolute grade-A wanker for leaving me like this. I'm alone, empty. What the hell have you done to me? I'm saying all this now before the guilt sets in. That usually happens when I sober up a bit. I'll tell you what though, it fucking hurts just as much as the anger does. I can't go back to Baker Street. My new flat's just around the corner and I really should go to visit Mrs Hudson, but I just can't face it. Face you. Never mind, I might see you soon. Depends on whether or not Greg finds me this time. He took all the pills away last week; he even called in an old favour from the drug squad, would you believe it? I haven't slept properly since.

Bye for now,

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

Good news. Mrs Hudson's getting better. The doctors say there's a good chance she won't have to undergo any more treatment. She's back at Baker Street at last; I'm going to take her out to that tea-shop around the corner later. Send her your best wishes, eh?

John. 

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

Greg took me out for a drink tonight. Can't call him DI anymore. He seems really worried about me, but I don't know why. I'm fine, really. I'm nothing. Every day is just... nothing. It's been three months now.

John. 

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

Mycroft came to see me again today. Well, he tried to. I'm still not really speaking to him. I doubt I ever will. I don't blame him, not entirely. I mean, I'm guilty as fuck too, right? If I was that good of a friend, I would never have let you jump leave me. He just… he shouldn't have done what he did, and I can't get over that. I wish you'd have listened to me on that bloody rooftop. Just five more seconds to let me tell you this - I will always believe in you.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I went to see Mrs Hudson today. We talked about a lot of things. You, mostly. See? You're still the centre of attention, even after- after you left. I bet you love that, don't you? Egotistical bastard. Anyway, she was in good spirits today. She liked the flowers I took her. I wish I'd visited more often. I miss her.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I went back to see Ella again today. I promised Greg I would. She says I've improved. Yeah right. You always said she was rubbish. At least I don't have to go and see her again for a while. Harry's got herself a new job, by the way. She wants to go out for drinks to celebrate. I agreed. I don't even care anymore, isn't that funny?

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I said Greg could stay over tonight. He's sleeping on the sofa. It's been hard for him, lately. I think he's planning on going to stay in his sister's house over in France. There's nothing here for him now, I suppose. I'll miss him too. It seems that everyone I care about's gone or going. Just me, then.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I've finally lost it. I saw you today. There was some tall bloke standing a few rows behind be in the cemetery today, near Mrs Hudson. He saw me and ran off before I got a good look, but there was just something so Sherlock about him… see what I mean? Mental. Don't worry, shan't tell anyone.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I finally got around to going for that pint with Bill. It was a bit strange to be honest. He treated me differently - with care, you could say. I didn't like it. John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

I'm bored. Like you. Bored with everything. Bored with life. I'm supposed to be helping Greg pack today. Should be fun. That was sarcasm, there. He's promised to keep in touch, so that's one thing at least. I wish I could just pack my things and go off to another country. Start again. Forget about you… Is that what I want? To forget about you?

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

It's one of those days again. The sad ones. Never mind. I'll go and make myself some tea and sleep it off. Joust the one mug though! The amount of tea bags I've wasted on you these past few months is ridiculous. John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

Mike came to see me today. Isn't it odd that people are coming to see me? Shouldn't I be meeting up with them or something like that? I'm not ill. Well, Mike doesn't think I'm doing too well. He's a doctor, what do you expect? Not only that, but he could always see right through me anyway.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

271 days. I miss you.

John.

* * *

Dear Sherlock,

This is a goodbye letter, I suppose, because I won't be writing to you from now on. On the bright side, I'm also saying hello. Because whilst this might be the end of our old life together, it's the start of a new one, right? I'm a bit nervous, really. I always imagined I'd have a wife, a couple of kids and a proper retirement. That doesn't matter to me now, though, I've made my choice. Think of it like that film, Inception is it? You jump from a dream, and you wake up in your old life. I'm surprised I never thought of it before. Don't worry, I've settled everything. All my stuff will go to Harry, anyway. I said goodbye to Greg (I hope he'll be alright. Good mate, he was) and I went to see Mrs Hudson one last time (I took her some nice carnations). I even waved at a bloody security camera on the way home, I hope Mycroft understands. Well, this is it then. I'll see you in a bit, you great sod. Love,

John.

* * *

John,

This is a ridiculous notion, and I can't believe I'm going through with it. And yet I feel as if you deserve closure. It's been a week since my return, and everything is wrong. I found your letters yesterday morning, and I'm sorry. Make the most of those words John Watson; you don't hear them from me very often. I suppose you never will, now. That's my fault. I didn't know you'd feel this way, I should have, but I didn't. Once again my downfall has been emotions. I expected you to move on, and start a new life without me. In all honesty, my imagination had you and Lestrade back-to-front. He relied on me, you see. I never realised that you did, too. Speaking of Lestrade, he came home on the first flight back once he'd heard. I'm told the conversation between he and Mycroft was not an easy one. His greeting to me was a black-eye and a broken nose, though it could have been worse. He's still talking to me, at least. The Yard have offered him his job back, though he won't take it. I assume he'll return to France straight after your the funeral. They have issued an official apology, though. I'm afraid I won't be joining you any time soon, John. No matter how much I want to, if only to shout at you for being so stupid. Did you know they've written it up as a hit-and-run? We all know that's not true though, even Anderson worked it out. If you're worried about the driver, don't bother. He's getting away with a mere suspension of his licence. Mycroft is keeping me under 24-hour surveillance and I've tried, I really have tried, to find a way to join you but at the moment it just isn't possible. I feel so much anger towards you, John. I don't care if I'm being hypocritical, but you left me. At least I came back. You realise that I am never going to see you again. I can't believe your stupidity, your ridiculous reasoning and the fact that you managed to convince yourself that it was a good idea! You were right, as always, alone doesn't protect you. Alone hurts. And it's hurting me right now. I miss you John Watson, and I am mourning the life we could have had together as well as the man I could have loved.

Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
